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IT was hot in the little back room of Wilson's restaurant,
The sweat gathered in the edges of Mr. Munn's hair, and now
and then a drop would slide down his forehead or down his
cheek. He would be conscious of its tickling motion, but he
would not lift his hand to wipe his face. He would, in fact,
cherish, though peevishly, that small sensation of discomfort,
for it distracted him from the immediate world around him.
He could feel, too, the sweat gathering at his armpits. He
felt the matted hair there, and then a minute movement
down the flesh under his left arm, for a drop had detached
itself and was sliding down. He shuddered with a sudden
wave of cold that was within him, that grew out of his own
body, and had no relation to the hot, motionless air of the
room and the glaring light pouring in from the alley win-
dow. He lifted his glass and took a full drink, not savouring
the taste, but letting the ice-cold liquid flow down his throat
all at once. Then he waited for the shudder.

" Then he tried to get Tom Sorrell," Mr. Sills said. " Five
hundred dollars."

"Mr. Sorrell said he didn't know at first what the fellow
was driving at," Professor Ball put in.

Mn Munn looked at Professor Ball. Professor Ball did not
seem to be aware of the heat, not even with that long black
coat buttoned up over him and the heavy white bandages on
his hands. The skin of his face was perfectly dry. It was
yellowish in colour and delicately creased like well-worked
leather. He was staring out of the alley window at the blank
brick wall, and watching him, Mr. Munn remembered how
in this room that day of the rally a year before—almost
exactly a year but seemingly so much longer-—Senator Tolli-
ver had raised his eyes to that wall as into a distance. Pro-
fessor Ball was doing that, looking beyond them.

"Mr, Sorrell didn't know what he was driving at,"